Chapter 105: Too Late

Mindy and Layla were deep in discussion about the upcoming banquet, carefully going over the guest list and making the final arrangements.

Their conversation was light, and occasional laughter filled the office.

Then came a knock.

Knock. Knock.

The laughter stopped.

Sienna opened the door slowly, her expression carefully neutral. She’d been working with Mindy and Layla long enough to recognize when something was about to shift.

"Miss Wilson..." Sienna’s voice was quiet. "Mr. Hawthorne is here."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop.

Layla’s marker froze mid-stroke. She turned slowly, her eyes immediately finding Mindy’s.

Mindy’s expression didn’t change. She simply set down the proposal she’d been reading and stood with the same grace she always carried.

Raymond stood in the doorway, and for the first time in years, he looked small.

His hands were clasped together in front of him, fingers interlaced tightly as though holding onto something invisible.

His shoulders weren’t squared the way they usually were. His jaw wasn’t set with that familiar stubborn authority.

He looked... uncertain.

"...Mindy."

His voice was quieter than usual, almost tentative.

"Can... can we talk?"

There wasn’t even a trace of command in his tone. No expectation of obedience. No assumption that she would follow.

Only a question.

A request.

Mindy looked at him for several long seconds. Her face remained calm, unreadable. Then she nodded.

Layla said "You can use my office."

Raymond’s shoulders sagged slightly with what might have been relief. He nodded quietly, stepping back to let her pass.

As Mindy walked toward the door, Layla instinctively reached out, her fingers wrapping gently around Mindy’s wrist. The gesture was protective, almost unconscious.

Mindy paused and looked back. Her expression softened, and she placed her other hand over Layla’s.

"I’ll be fine," she said quietly.

Layla held on for another moment, searching Mindy’s eyes for any sign of hesitation or pain. Finding none, she slowly let go.

"I’ll be here," Layla said firmly.

Mindy smiled—small, genuine, grateful—and walked out.

Sienna closed the door behind them, leaving Layla standing alone in the middle of her office, staring at the whiteboard covered in banquet plans that suddenly felt completely unimportant.

Layla’s Office

Layla’s office was silent except for the faint hum of the city beyond the glass.

The afternoon sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long golden beams across the polished floor. Dust particles floated lazily in the light, suspended in the stillness.

Behind Layla’s desk hung the portrait of Maria Hawthorne.

Raymond couldn’t help looking at it.

Maria smiled down at him from the canvas, her expression warm and timeless. She looked exactly as he remembered her—elegant, kind, impossibly beautiful.

The artist had captured something essential about her, something that went beyond physical appearance.

Raymond’s chest tightened painfully.

Mindy gestured toward the sofa near the window. "Please sit."

Raymond obeyed without a word, lowering himself onto the cushions as though his body had suddenly become very heavy.

Mindy sat opposite him, crossing one leg over the other with practiced elegance. Her posture was perfect—back straight, hands folded in her lap, expression composed.

She looked every inch the CEO she was becoming.

Neither of them spoke for nearly a minute.

The silence stretched between them, thick and uncomfortable. Raymond opened his mouth twice, then closed it again, the words dying before they could form.

Finally, he broke.

"...Miss Hart is remarkable."

Mindy nodded slightly. "She is."

"I always thought..." He looked around the office, taking in the clean lines, the organized desk, the portrait watching over everything. "...that one day you’d be the one sitting in this chair."

Mindy’s expression didn’t change. "Layla is as much my mother’s daughter as I am."

She looked toward Maria’s portrait, her gaze softening almost imperceptibly.

"It doesn’t matter who holds the title." Her voice was gentle, matter-of-fact. "It’s still ours."

Raymond lowered his head, staring at his clasped hands. "...You’re right."

Silence fell again, heavier this time.

He took a deep breath, as though preparing to lift something impossibly heavy.

"I’m sorry."

Mindy didn’t react. She simply watched him, waiting.

"I truly didn’t know Emily and Missy were using Maria’s unfinished drafts... or yours." His voice cracked slightly. "I swear I didn’t."

Mindy looked at him quietly for a long moment.

Then she spoke, her voice calm and even.

"I don’t think it would’ve mattered."

Raymond’s head snapped up. "What?"

"You gave my mother’s company..." Mindy’s tone remained steady, almost clinical. "...to someone who wasn’t even part of her family."

Raymond opened his mouth to protest, but she continued.

"You gave Angel Tear—the tiara my mother made especially for me—to someone else."

"You handed Starlight over."

"You gave away everything that belonged to her."

She wasn’t shouting. There wasn’t a single trace of resentment in her voice. No bitterness. No anger.

She was simply stating facts.

Like reading numbers from a financial report.

That calmness frightened Raymond far more than any amount of screaming ever could.

He stared at her, his face pale. "...Is..." His lips trembled. "...is that truly how you see me?"

His voice broke. "I loved your mother."

Mindy smiled, but there was no warmth in it. Only a deep, bone-tired sadness.

"If you had loved her..." She paused, letting the words settle. "You wouldn’t have remarried one year after she died."

Raymond froze as though she’d struck him.

"I..." He struggled to find words. "I was broken. I had no one. Emily... she helped me."

Mindy slowly shook her head.

"No."

The single word hung in the air like a verdict.

"It wasn’t only you who lost her."

She looked straight into his eyes, and for the first time, Raymond saw something there that made his heart stop—not anger, not hatred, but a vast, empty distance.

"I was ten."

Her voice remained steady, but each word landed like a stone dropping into still water.

"My mother died."

"And before I even understood what losing a mother meant... another woman entered our home."

She paused, her gaze never wavering.

"So don’t tell me you loved her more than anyone."

Her eyes slowly drifted toward Maria’s portrait, and something in her expression softened—grief, perhaps, or memory.

"The worst part wasn’t that you remarried."

"It was everything that came afterward."

"You slowly gave away every single thing that belonged to my mother."

Another pause, longer this time.

Then, quietly:

"And every single thing that belonged to me."

Raymond felt as though something inside him had shattered into a thousand pieces.

He had never thought about it that way.

Not once.

Angel Tear.

Starlight.

Maria’s company.

Even... his daughter.

Without realizing it, year by year, piece by piece, he had slowly handed everything away.

And he had never once asked himself what that meant for the little girl who had lost her mother and then watched her father give away every trace of her.

After a long, suffocating silence, Raymond whispered, "Let me fix this."

Mindy didn’t answer.

"Come home tonight." His voice was desperate now, pleading. "We’ll have dinner together. Just..." He swallowed hard. "...just like old times."

Mindy stared at him.

Then, slowly, a faint smile appeared on her lips—sad, distant, almost pitying.

"...Old times?"

She tilted her head slightly.

"Mr. Hawthorne... when was the last time I sat at the same dining table with your family?"

Raymond blinked.

He tried to remember.

One dinner.

One breakfast.

One birthday celebration.

One holiday meal.

Anything.

His mind searched desperately through years of memories, flipping through them like pages in a book.

Nothing came.

Nothing.

His breathing became heavier, more labored.

"...I..."

He couldn’t answer.

Not because he didn’t want to.

Because he genuinely couldn’t remember.

There was no memory to find.

Mindy quietly finished for him.

"You can’t."

The words were soft, but they cut deeper than any blade.

Silence.

She folded her hands together in her lap, her posture still perfect, still composed.

"Is there anything else? Mr. Hawthorne!"

Raymond suddenly looked up, something desperate flashing in his eyes.

"I’m still your father!"

His voice rose slightly, gaining a hint of the authority it used to carry.

"Stop calling me Mr. Hawthorne."

For the first time in the entire conversation, Mindy sighed.

Not out of frustration.

Not out of anger.

Out of exhaustion.

The kind of exhaustion that comes from carrying something heavy for far too long.

"You were the one who signed the severance papers."

Her voice was gentle, almost kind, which somehow made it worse.

"You announced publicly... that you only had one daughter."

She paused.

"Missy Hawthorne."

Another pause.

"And that daughter wasn’t me."

She looked at him calmly, her eyes clear and steady.

"So please... go have dinner with your family."

Her voice softened even further.

"I’m sure... they’ll be waiting for you."

Raymond’s lips trembled. His hands clenched into fists on his knees.

He wanted to say something.

Anything.

To take it back. To explain. To beg.

But no words came out.

His throat had closed completely.

He slowly stood, his movements stiff and mechanical, like a man moving through water.

He walked toward the door.

Stopped.

Turned around.

His daughter sat exactly where Maria once used to sit, in the office that had once been hers, beneath the portrait that watched over everything.

Strong.

Elegant.

Confident.

And farther away than she had ever been.

"...Take care of yourself."

He finally whispered, his voice barely audible.

Then he left.

The door closed behind him with a soft click.

The Hallway

Outside the office, Raymond walked slowly through the hallway.

Employees passed by, greeting him with polite nods and respectful smiles.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Hawthorne."

"Mr. Hawthorne."

He barely noticed them. His feet moved automatically, carrying him forward without conscious thought.

His hand unconsciously reached into his wallet, fingers searching for something familiar.

Hidden behind several business cards, tucked away where no one would see it, was a tiny passport-sized photograph.

Maria.

She was smiling exactly the way she always had—bright, genuine, full of life.

Raymond stared at it for a long time, his vision slowly blurring.

"...Maria..."

His voice was barely audible, a whisper meant only for the woman in the photograph.

"I think... I’ve lost her."

He wasn’t talking about Mindy leaving the Hawthorne family.

He wasn’t talking about the severance papers or the company or any of the tangible things that had been taken away.

He meant something much deeper.

Somewhere along the years, without noticing, he had lost the little girl who used to wait at the front door every evening just to hug him when he came home.

The one who used to climb into his lap and fall asleep while he worked.

The one who used to look at him like he could fix anything.

And now, no matter how much he reached out, no matter what he said or did...

She no longer wanted to come back.

He remembered the day he had signed the severance papers.

He had thought it was just another tantrum. Another emotional outburst that would pass. He had been so certain that she would come back within a week, maybe two, standing quietly beside him with her head bowed, asking to be forgiven.

He had thought he was teaching her a lesson.

How wrong he had been.

She had left.

And she had never looked back.

Not once.

Raymond’s hand tightened around the photograph, crumpling the edges slightly.

A single tear rolled down his cheek, then another.

He didn’t bother wiping them away.

Mindy’s Office

Inside the office, Mindy remained seated exactly where she had been.

She looked toward the closed door for a long moment, her expression calm.

Too calm.

She had thought she would feel satisfaction when this moment came.

Relief, perhaps.

Victory.

Instead, there was nothing.

No anger.

No hatred.

No sadness.

Only emptiness.

A hollow space where something used to be.

In her previous life, she had believed until her very last breath that her father would come.

That if she screamed loud enough, cried hard enough, begged desperately enough... he would save her.

But he never came.

He had disappointed her too many times.

He didn’t even hesitate when he severed their bond and chose Missy that day.

He had supported Missy and Emily during the Bright competition, even after knowing they had stolen the designs.

He had chosen them every time.

Every. Single. Time.

And she had given them too many chances.

No more.

She slowly closed her eyes, her hands still folded in her lap.

"...It’s too late," she whispered to the empty room.

A tear almost formed at the corner of her eye.

But it never fell.

She wouldn’t cry for him anymore.